A Royal Affair
by 8LaDolceVita8
Summary: After a bad day at school, Arnold wishes he could be somewhere else. His wish comes true when he wakes up in the year 1858. As he faces class differences, manipulation, forbidden romances and mortal danger, will he survive? Will Arnold ever make it back to his own time period?
1. Chapter 1

**A Royal Affair**

* * *

Prologue

* * *

"Outta my way Geekbait!"

Arnold Shortman felt himself make contact with the cold, wet asphalt as Helga Pataki, the school bully, shoved him hard to the ground. Arnold sighed and dusted himself off as he picked himself up off the ground.

_Great_, Arnold thought to himself, _Now my pants are all muddy. _

It had been raining all morning and the ground was still damp. Now Arnold was too. He groaned and picked up his equally sullied backpack and followed Helga into the entrance of Hillwood High School. What a wonderful day today was turning out to be. Arnold continued to stare at the back of Helga's head as he made his way through the hallway. The years had flown by and they were now teenagers on the cusp of adulthood and yet, Helga had remained the same. If you asked Arnold, she had even gotten worse over the years.

Arnold had never quite been able to figure out why Helga was so mean-spirited. There had been that one time when they were nine years old when she had kissed him on the rooftop of Future Tech Industries and for awhile, Arnold felt that Helga secretly harbored a crush on him all these years. But his hypothesis was quickly proven wrong when things had returned to normal. In fact, worse than normal and Arnold never saw the gentle side of Helga again. Was there even a gentle side? When he was younger, Arnold always thought that she did. From time to time it even seemed to surface for a brief second or two. But Arnold was older now and jaded from all the torment Helga had put him through. He didn't know if he believed there was a deeper side to her anymore. Maybe all this time she really was a bully and if he had believed otherwise, it was only in a naive misplaced attempt to try to see the good in everyone. Arnold sighed for the umpteenth time. Maybe there was no good side to Helga G. Pataki. Maybe there never was.

"Hey look! Football Head has gone and shit himself!" Helga's shrill voice rang out in the classroom of Mrs. Deacon's English class.

The entire class turned to laugh and point at Arnold's muddied pants.

"Very funny Helga." Arnold glared at her.

Arnold made his way to his seat and slung his backpack over the chair. He took out his books and pretended to focus on them.

_Don't pay attention to her _He said to himself, _She wants you to get angry. Don't get angry._

But it was hard to keep his cool when Helga continued to insult him with taunts like 'Past for brains' and 'Douchnozzle' all while simutaneously throwing wadded up pieces of paper at least she had graduated from spitballs, though not by much.

"Good Morning Class." Mrs. Deacon said as she walked into the classroom.

Arnold breathed a sigh of relief as Helga finally gave her taunting a temporary reprieve, so as not to get caught by the teacher.

"Good Morning" the class repeated back to her in a robotic fashion.

"So continuing off from our last lesson, we were learning about combining simple sentences to form complex structures"

Mrs. Deacon turned to the chalkboard and wrote three sentences on it.

"Can anyone come up to the board and combine these three sentences I have just written, to form one complex sentence?" she said as she scanned the room looking for a volunteer.

No one raised their hand.

"Anyone?" she repeated.

Helga coughed under her breath, "Arnold".

"Arnold?" Mrs. Deacon said pointing her chalk in his direction, "Would you like to give it a try?"

Arnold sighed and looked up.

"Sure, Mrs. Deacon" he replied.  
He made a move to get up but was quickly slung back down in his chair. It was as if he was literally glued to the chair, he couldn't budge! He looked back at Helga and she smirked at him knowingly. Arnold groaned at the realization that Helga had put super-glue on his seat before he came to class. How juvenile could she get?

"Arnold? Is everything alright?" Mrs. Deacon said, raising an eyebrow.

Now he had the attention of everyone in class as they all stared at him. He had to get up, he just had to. Otherwise he would have to admit that he was glued to his seat and become the laughingstock of the class. Arnold tried with all his might to get out his chair. He pressed hard against the surface of his desk until finally he felt himself come free from the seat. Unfortunately for him, the loud ripping noise that echoed across the silent room signified that his pants had also chosen to come free from him.

Arnold's eyes practically popped out of his head as he turned to look at at the gigantic tear in his jeans. The unmistakable white glare of his underwear showed from beneath. For a moment the entire class was silent and then all at once, everyone errupted with loud, boisterous laughter. Arnold felt his entire face turning a deep scarlet red as looked up at all the mocking faces of his classmates. They were pointing and jeering at him, their faces turning into twisted caricatures of themselves. It was a kid's worst nightmare come true; being in his underwear in front of the entire class. Arnold felt sick to his stomach. He could feel it twisting and turning, churning the hot acidic bile that crept up the base of his throat. He had to get out of here. Arnold slammed his chair back and hit the ground running.

He ran right down the hallway and right out of the school. He kept on running until he felt like his body couldn't physically handle it anymore. By then he found himself at the local park. Arnold picked up a small stone from the pathway and turned it over in his fist, feeling the jagged sharp edges against the suppleness of his skin. In the small pool of water before him, he pictured Helga's face and threw the stone at it, causing the water to ripple and the image to fade. Arnold groaned angrily as he ran his hand through his hair. Why did Helga make it her life's mission to make his a living hell? What had he ever done to her, except try to be nice? Why did she hate him so much? Arnold felt his nails digging into the soft flesh of his palm as he tightened them into fists.

"I wish I was somewhere else!" he screamed to no one in particular, "I wish I was _someone_ else!"

Who was he kidding? He couldn't be someone else no matter how desperate he wished it. Arnold jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and kicked up the dust on the pathway, coating the white tops of his Converse sneakers. It was only mid-morning but he couldn't go back to school, not with his ripped pants. Home was the only option now. He sighed and headed out of the park.

Unbeknownst to him, a shrouded figure in the trees had heard him. An enigmatic smile curled up the sides of the woman's cheeks.

"Be careful what you wish for" she whispered.

* * *

Dejectedly, Arnold trudged up the stairs of the boarding house.

"What's wrong Shortman? You're home early." Grandpa called to him from the bottom of the stairs.

"I don't want to talk about it Grandpa." Arnold said as he slammed the door to his bedroom.

He kicked off his ruined jeans and crashed onto the mattress. From the bed he could see the sky through the clear glass rooftop. He put his arms behind his head and stared at the clouds overhead. They seemed to be moving ever so slowly as if the passage of time did not affect them. It was therapeautic in a way. Arnold felt his eyelids grow heavier and heavier as he continued to watch the clouds. He struggled to stay awake, but a deep sleep already had him within its grasp. Before he knew it, his eyes closed and he was in a land far away.

* * *

It was the smell of the room that woke Arnold up. Dank and musty, like mothballs and mildew. Darkness greeted him when Arnold finally opened his eyes. How long had he been asleep? Certainly not long enough for him to have slept the whole day. He thought for sure Grandpa would at least have woken him up for lunch or dinner. He sat upright and felt around the side of his wall for the light switch but try all he might, his hands found no lightswitch. Where was it? Arnold waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and once they finally did he gasped in surprise.

This wasn't his room! Arnold bolted up off the bed and surveyed his surroundings. It looked like a broom closet; dark and dingy and about the size of a shoebox. All he saw was a dirty cracked mirror hanging over an equally grimy sink. Where was he? Had he been drugged and kidnapped by human traffickers? Arnold had seen that sort of thing happening in a movie once.

"Okay, stay calm" Arnold said to himself as he tried to suppress the rising panic.

He looked around for anything he could use as a weapon should the need arise. There was almost nothing in the room, save for some garments of clothes and a bar of soap on the sink. Finally he spied an empty wine bottle in the corner of the room. It would have to do. He grabbed it and headed for the door way. Arnold felt his heart pounding out of his chest as he slowly turned the doorknob. To his utter surprise, it actually opened.

Arnold groaned and shielded his eyes from the bright white light. It was indeed still morning and the sunlight practically blinded him. He blinked a few times and looked around. It was not at all what he had expected. He thought he would see a bunch of shady looking men in the trafficking ring and was prepared to fight them off with..well...a wine bottle. But instead he saw that he was inside a sprawling, luxurious mansion. The finely tapestried walls climbed so high that Arnold had to crane his neck to see where the walls stopped and the ceiling started. There were several large glass windows from which beams of sunlight shone through. All around the mansion were people bustling about dressed in what looked to be mid 19th century clothing.

So was he on the filming set of some historical drama? How had he gotten here? Had Helga beaned him so hard that he suffered from permanent brain damage that caused lapses in memory? Or was he plain going crazy?

"There you are!"

Arnold looked up to see an 19th century version of Harold marching towards him.

"Harold?" Arnold called out.

"You will address me as Cook!" Harold yelled at him. He looked Arnold up and down with disdain on his face. "Why are you standing here so indecently dressed? Get dressed at once and get to work you lazy sack of bones! Don't you know the Lord and lady will be home soon from their journey and they'll be wanting their breakfast!"

Arnold looked down at himself. He was wearing a slightly dirty white night shift and long white drawers tucked underneath wooly socks. He blushed as he realized this must be the olden day's equivalent of being in your underwear. He hurriedly ran back to the broom closet he assumed was his bedroom. Arnold looked through the articles of clothing that was hanging over the poster of his bedframe. Arnold put on a pair of gray slacks with suspenders attached to them and a starchy white buttoned shirt. He grasped his head for a moment. This had to be a dream. One big twisted dream.

When he got back out, Harold threw a mop and bucket at him.

"Put yourself to use, you worthless street urchin!"

"Harold?" Arnold said as he grasped the handle of the mop.

"I said," Harold snarled, "You are to address me as cook!"

"Cook,"Arnold began again, "What year is this?"

Harold looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

"1859" he replied, "Now stop yer yammering and get to work or it'll be no supper for you tonight!"

1859? This had to be some kind of sick joke right? Arnold felt himself go weak in the knees. He had no time to process it however as Harold barked another order at him.

"Servant-boy! Go down to the cellar and get me a bottle of sherry! Quickly now, go!"

Arnold placed the mop and bucket to the side and left the kitchen. Where was the cellar? He felt an encompassing sense of shock and bewilderment at his current situation. He idled outside for awhile being bumped and pushed around by other busy servants around the mansion. Finally he worked up the courage to stop one of the maids and asked her, "Excuse me miss, where is the cellar?"

She looked at him as if he was insane for the second time that day and pointed down the stairs to his right. Arnold muttered his thanks and ran down the steps. In the dark, cool room of the cellar he finally found some peace. Arnold sat down one of the wooden crates and placed his head in his hands. He hoped that if he just squeezed his eyes shut tight and long enough, he'd somehow wake up in the boarding house again in present day. A few minutes later, he opened his eyes to no such luck.

"Where is that useless servant-boy with the sherry?"Arnold heard Harold bellow from upstairs.

Arnold sighed and looked through the bottles of alcohol. He had no idea which one was the sherry. In fact, he had never even drunk the stuff before. He was only sixteen, how was he to know? He picked a random bottle and hoped for the best as he bounded up the stairs.

The bottle of sherry made a deafening sound as it shattered against the hard wooden floor. Arnold stood there petrified as if he had just seen a ghost. As far as he was concerned, he had, for standing there in front of him was Helga G. Pataki.

"Helga?" Arnold whispered in disbelief.

The girl turned toward him in mild surprise. Was it really Helga? She had the same face, but everything else looked so different. Helga's blonde hair, was now set in ringlets and tied in the back with a big pink bow. She donned a full skirted cream dress with bell sleeves and a high collar.

"Helga!" Arnold yelled again.

Just then, Harold came bursting out of the kitchen to see what had caused the commotion.

"Bite your tongue Servant-boy! How impudent you are to dare call the lady of the house by her Christian name! You shall always address her as Lady Helga or Milady. Do you understand?" he yelled at Arnold, "I shall have you whipped for such gall!"

"That's quite enough cook. He meant no harm." Helga said to Harold. She turned to Arnold and said with a gentle voice "Are you alright, Boy?"

This couldn't have been Helga, Arnold thought to himself. She was much too..soft. Too gentle. The Helga he remembered would have screamed insults at him. But then why did she have Helga's face? And why did the man standing next to her look so much like Bob Pataki?

"I beg for forgiveness milord, this boy is a new servant to the household. I've bought him just last night at the market. He's an orphan and my poor, weak heart took pity on the fool. Please milord, do forget this incident. It'll not happen again."

"It had better not Cook. You'd do well to keep these boys in line, or it'll be you out on the streets" Bob threatened.

Harold nodded ferociously in understanding and obedience.

"Come Helga, we shall adjourn to the resting room." he called out gruffly as he walked to an adjoining room.

"Yes, father."

Helga endeavored to stare for a few moments at the curious dirty, blonde boy who had called out to her as if he had known her his entire life though it was the first time in her life that she had seen him. Yet she got a peculiar feeling as if she had seen him somewhere before. Then she laughed a little to herself. She had been reading too many novels it seemed and the fantasies had started to seep into her mind. That was all. Helga shook her head as if to shake off any feelings of unsettlement and picked up her skirts to join her father.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

_Suffolk, England 1858_

It was still the early hours of morning and the sun had scarcely peeked its golden head over the horizon but the air was already stale and humid, bearing down heavily like molasses. England was going through another one of its sweltering Indian summers and it was magnified doubly so in the countryside.

Lady Helga Pataki leaned her head out of the window of the carriage hoping to be granted a short reprieve from the heat, but it made no difference. Strands of blonde hair clung to the temples of her perspiring forehead and her chest heaved up and down in a steady rhythmic movement as she struggled to breathe in the rigid corset that bound her. In an attempt to distract herself, Helga continued to stare down the long winding road ahead of her, hoping that time would quicken and she'd be home to Bedford Hills so that she might remove herself from the suffocating confinement of her garments. The heavy brocade of her skirts clung uncomfortably to her legs and she was reaching such a point of desperation that she likely would have undressed right there in the carriage were it not for her father, Lord Robert Pataki, sitting across from her.

"Helga, come away from the window this instant!", her father admonished, "You are to behave like a lady, not a common farm girl"

Helga brought herself back inside the carriage. It hadn't mattered anyway for there was no sign of wind blowing anywhere. The leaves on the trees stood were stagnant and unmoving.

Lord Robert sighed, "Why do you not behave more like the high born lady that you are? If you did, perhaps you would have already married to someone of large fortune and respectable gentry, like your sister Olga"

Helga fidgeted in her seat at the mention of her older sister's name. Her entire life she had lived in the shadow of Olga, who was the embodiment of the perfect upper-class lady. Ever since she had been a child of merely five years old, Olga had excelled in sewing, playing the piano, and even speaking French as well as a native. She was Lord Robert's pride and joy and as she grew older, word of her reknowned beauty and soft-spoken gentile manners spread throughout the county of Suffolk.

Therefore, it came to no one's surprise when Olga received numerous marriage proposals. By the time Olga had received her first monthly blood, she had wed Duke Edward Crowley of Cambridge, making her a Duchess.

In fact, it was from a visit to Olga's apartments in Cambridge that Helga and Lord Robert were returning. They had been on the road for a fortnight now and all Helga wanted was to be back in the comforts of her own home.

"Already sixteen years of age and no husband, it's unspeakable! What would your late mother think?", continued Lord Robert.

"Forgive me father", Helga mumbled rather insincerely as she stared apathetically out the carriage window.

"No matter. I'll not have a spinster daughter in my lineage. No, there is hope for you yet. The Coronation Ball of Prince Wolfgang III will be upon us within the week at which respectable bachelors will be present. At your age, you'll not receive any marriage proposals from a Duke or an Earl, but at best, I may be able to marry you off to a wealthy widowed mill owner"

"Do you mean he will be more than twice my age and already with children?", Helga gasped, leaning forward in her seat.

"It is possible"

Helga crossed her arms and turned her face in defiance. "I will not go"

"You will not go? What do you mean by this?", Lord Robert demanded.

"I mean, I will not go father! I refuse to be sold off like cattle to the highest bidder that you find!"

Lord Robert struck his daughter across the cheek, forming red streaks across her pale ivory skin.

"You insolent girl! You are _my_ daughter and your fate lies in _my_ hands. Our forefathers did not travel the wide distance from Hungary and build their fortune through toil only to have their legacy ruined by the likes of a wayward foolish girl!"

Helga held her cheek, still throbbing from the slap and didn't say another word. She knew better than to tempt her father's anger, even if she was just as headstrong and willful as he was. Lord Robert's temper was as provokable as a tempest and she knew he was not above taking a switch to her behind if she dared to go further.

Brooding silently, Helga vowed that she would rather die a spinster than be sold like a common whore to a strange man who would mount her like a horse every night. Helga shuddered at the thought. No, it was far better to be alone.

Helga might be forced to go to the ball but all the power in the world couldn't force her to act like the docile little lamb they all expected her to be. She grinned. Her headstrong and bold behavior would be enough to ward the men away. If Olga was a delicate little flower on a tree branch, then Helga was the sturdy tree trunk: tough and unbending. She had no qualms about voicing her opinion and in a society so dominated by the male figure, this was frowned upon. As a woman, she was expected to be quiet and amenable and this, Helga was not. People, including her father, wondered how two sisters born from the same womb could be so different. _  
_

At long last, the sound of hooves stopped against gravel signified the end of their extenuous journey. Helga sighed in relief. Finally she could be away from the company of her insufferable father and stall the talk of marriage for yet another day.

"Welcome home your lordship; Lady Helga"

A row of servants greeted in perfect unison as they stood outside in the courtyard. Helga climbed down from the carriage and peered at the large Victorian stone manor before her. Bedford Hill. She was home at last.

Though Helga had only spent a week at Olga's, she felt as though it had been an eternity since she had been here last. It was strange not to hear the usual hustle and bustle of horse hooves and carriage wheels against cobbled stone roads, or the shouts of the newsboys around the block as was common in the streets of London. Here in the countryside of Suffolk, she only heard the faint buzz of bees and smelled the distinct scent of cow-dung, as only one who had been away would notice.

Her peace was quickly disrupted however, by the sound of shattering glass. Helga turned to the direction of the noise. There by the stairwell to the cellar stood a tall, young servant-boy, dressed in a wrinkled white shirt which was spotted with dust and dirt. He stood there and stared back at her, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. For a moment, neither of them said anything as if this were a western draw-scene, in which the both of them were locked in a stalemate.

Finally the boy parted his lips and called her name.

"Helga!", he said.

The stalemate was broken. Helga stepped back, startled as if his words were gunshots that wounded her. No one ever called her by her name aside from her father, let alone a servant. Did he know her from somewhere?

Just then, Helga noticed a flash of white as the cook came storming out of the kitchen.

"Bite your tongue Servant-boy! How impudent you are to dare call the lady of the house by her Christian name! You shall always address her as Lady Helga or Milady. Do you understand?", he yelled at the boy, "I shall have you whipped for such gall!"

Helga smiled. Cook had a fierce tongue, but she knew it was merely a hardened exterior that he put up for show. She knew he wouldn't actually whip him, but still she felt sympathetic for the poor boy who seemed lost and disoriented.

"That's quite enough cook. He meant no harm", Helga said to Cook. She turned to boy and said with a gentle voice, "Are you alright, Boy?"

The boy didn't say anything. He just continued to stare up at her dumbfoundead. Did she have something on her face? Why did he stare at her in such a manner?

"I beg for forgiveness Milord, this boy is a new servant to the household. I've bought him just last night at the market. He's an orphan and my poor, weak heart took pity on the fool. Please Milord, do forget this incident. It'll not happen again"

"It had better not Cook. You'd do well to keep these boys in line, or it'll be you out on the streets", Her father threatened.

The cook nodded ferociously in understanding and obedience.

"Come Helga, we shall adjourn to the resting room", he called out gruffly as he walked to an adjoining room.

"Yes father"Helga endeavored to stare curiously for another moment at the boy. Somehow she couldn't help but to feel perturbed. This boy had called to her as if they had known eachother their entire lives. A strange feeling of dejavu prickled up her spine as Helga looked into the boy's vivid green eyes. Had they met somewhere before? Another second passed before Helga laughed to herself in denial. She shook her head as if to shake off the feelings of uneasiness and picked up her skirts to join her father.

* * *

...

By the time Arnold had finally regained control of his muscle movements, he had realized his chance had passed. As he watched Helga's fleeting figure, he wanted to run after her and grab ahold of her arm. But the thought had scarcely crossed his mind before he felt himself being pulled by the back of his shirt.

"Off to the stables with you boy!", Harold yelled at Arnold as he gruffly dragged him back through the kitchen, "You'll be nothing but trouble for me here. I shouldn't have paid a pence for your useless hide!"

"Wait, Harold!"

Arnold struggled to release himself from Harold's herculean grip, but Harold quickly had him tossed out the backdoor of the kitchen before Arnold could get a word in edgewise.

"And no supper for you tonight!", Harold shouted as he slammed the door in Arnold's face.

Try all he might, Arnold couldn't pry the door back open. He figured Harold had bolted it shut. He pounded on the door, but Harold was deadset on banishing Arnold from the kitchens. Arnold ran a hand through his hair in frustration. What was he to do now? He had no idea how he had even gotten here, or what was going on. Now to top it all off, he was homeless. Suddenly, he wished he was back in the boarding house, or even back in school with his ripped pants. Anywhere would do but here.

Where was he anyway?Arnold sighed and surveyed his surroundings. The mansion was surrounded by vast green moors which seemed to stretch endlessly beyond the horizon. The blades of grass blew in the wind. From where he was standing, they rippled like waves in a sea of green. In the distance he spied several horses grazing in the pastures. Arnold had only ever seen places like this in the landscape paintings of Gainsborough or Constable when his school had visited the art museum on one of their many excursions. This certainly wasn't the urban neighbor of Hillwood he was used to. Then again, this wasn't like _anything_ he was used to.

"Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore", Arnold muttered to himself.

* * *

...

A drop of sweat rolled down the side of Arnold's face but he didn't bother to wipe it anymore. He had been walking around the moors for what seemed like ages now and from the position of the sun, he assumed it was around noon. Arnold walked along the footpath down the sloping hills and looked back at the mansion which was now just a blimp in the distance. He had started off energetically but now he found it quite difficult to keep his pace as exhaustion caught up with him. His breaths grew ragged and his throat felt raw and dry like his own personal Sahara.

When he felt as if he couldn't possibly go on, Arnold collapsed in the grass. Though the sun still bore down on him, he felt some relief in the softness of the ground as he drank in the scents of baked earth and dried grass. He lay there for a few moments until he felt something moist and warm graze his calves. Arnold sat up quickly in alarm only to see it was a chestnut coated horse who had been licking him. Next to the horse a familiar, dark skinned boy peered down at him, grinning cheekily.

"So what did you do?"

"What do you mean?", Arnold asked.

The boy laughed and extended his hand to help Arnold up off the ground.

"You must've done something bad if you're all the way out here. Cook always sends the misbehaving 'uns to work in the stables", he said.

"I dropped a bottle of sherry"

The boy shook his head in mock disdain, though a smile was ever present on his face. "Mmm Mmm Mmm, cook's temper just gets worse over the years"

He drew a hand for Arnold to shake, "Names Gerald. I'm the stable boy"

"Arnold", Arnold said as he shook Gerald's hand. It was rough and callused and he could see dirt ingrained in the tiny spaces of Gerald's nailbed as if they now were a permanent part of his hand.

"Cor!", Gerald cried out in surprise. He grabbed Arnold's hand and turned it over to inspect. "You've never done a day's work in your life have you? Your hands are as soft as a baby's bottom!"

"Well...", Arnold trailed off as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. He did remember shoveling the snow around Christmas ever since he was a kid, or helping Grandpa mend the pipes. Did this count as manual labor? Arnold had always thought so. But when he saw the faint muscles outlined in Gerald's build and the appearance of his hands, he knew that it was nothing in comparison.

"Go on then, what's your story?", Gerald asked curiously as the two continued to walk down the path. He held onto the reins of the horse and lead him along. "Hands like that don't belong to someone who's known servitude all their life. No, Sir they don't. Are you one of those aristocrats that went bankrupt?"

"Not exactly...", Arnold began. Arnold thought of his grandparents and the eclectic boarders that made up his makeshift family back in Hillwood. He sure wouldn't describe his family as aristocratic. Should he tell Gerald the truth? After all, Gerald had been his friend his entire life even if this wasn't exactly 21st century Gerald. Or even an American version of Gerald for that matter.  
"Look, Gerald", Arnold began hesitantly, "I'm not from around here"

"I could've told you that. I can't place your accent but it sure isn't any type of English accent I've heard before", Gerald laughed.

"I'm from America", Arnold said.

"America? Well you're a bloody long way from home"

"Yeah well, not only that. I'm also from the...", Arnold fidgeted nervously, "from the future"

Gerald stopped in his tracks. He stared at Arnold long and hard as if he were surveying every inch of Arnold's face. Slowly his expression twisted until he burst into sudden laughter. Gerald laughed so hard he slapped his knees and wiped away tears from his eyes.

"If you didn't want to tell me your history, that's one thing. But to make up a tall tale like that? Arnold you're a right natural clown!"

"But Gerald, it's the truth!"

"And I'm the King of England. Well nevermind, we're here now anyway."

They had come to a stop at the top of a hill and below the path Arnold could see a tiny cottage, partially covered in thickets. There were animal tracks in the mud surrounding the place. Probably the horses. Still leading the chestnut horse, Gerald took him around the back of the cottage where Arnold could see a wooden shed. These were the stables, he assumed. There were two horses to a stall and seven in total. Gerald lead the chestnut horse to it's place at the end of the row and closed the gate behind him.

"This is where you'll be working for the next few days, at least until Cook lets you back in", Gerald explained. "You'll be mucking out the floor and feeding the horses"

Arnold winced slightly at the disgusting prospect of having to spend his days cleaning out horse-dung from the stable. As Gerald continued explaining his tasks for the day, a loud grumble came from Arnold's stomach.

"When was the last time you ate? It sounds like a war is going on inside your stomach", Gerald said mid-instruction.

Arnold smiled sheepishly and placed a hand on his stomach in embarrassment.

"Last night", he answered.

"God!", Gerald said throwing his hands up in the air, "Come with me"

Arnold followed him back around the front of the cottage. It was old and rather peculiar looking. The wood was old and weather-beaten, silvered by the sun. The roof was green with moss and caved in at one place, making the house look topsy-turvy. Arnold thought for a second it might crumble to the ground at the slightest touch.

"Granny! It's me", Gerald called out to someone. The door creaked with old age as he pushed it open.

Arnold looked around. The only source of light in the cottage came from the sunbeams which shone through the grimy windows. Dust bunnies tumbled across the worn floor boards, old tea cups lay around in every nook and cranny. There was a strong smell of mildew and musty air; thick and clotting. All around the place were piles of clutter, full of random objects such as a military boot, an old clock that no longer could tell the time, and even a rusty ship's compass.

"Is that you? Is that you my prince?", A voice called out from the corner.

Arnold practically jumped out of his skin. He hadn't noticed the tiny, hunched figure sitting in the darkness. She stood up and walked towards him with slow rounded movements and as she came towards the light, Arnold could make out more of her features. She wore a dark plum shawl, draped over her head like a hood, from which wisps of gray-white hair peeked out. Her face was heavily lined with age but her eyes twinkled with mischief like that of a young girl's.

_Grandma?_ Arnold thought to himself.

"This is Granny. She used to run the stables long before I came to Bedford Hills. She can't do much anymore in her old age but his lordship granted her a small cottage out here since she's been around for so long", Gerald said.

"'Ave you come to rescue me at last my dear prince? Ah've been waiting here for ages, I 'ave", Granny said in a strongly exaggerated cockney accent as she stroked Arnold's face.

"Don't pay her any mind. She's a little weak in the head", Gerald whispered.

"Granny, come on now, it's time for dinner", he said as he lead the old woman away from Arnold and back to her seat.

The fire roared alive as Gerald lit the wooden logs in the hearth. It sparked and hissed like a snake, sending its warmth and light far into the room. Blackened pots and pans of iron and copper hung from the rafters above it. Gerald took a large pot and placed it on a hanger directly over the fire. He poured a little water from a pitcher into along with some oats.

"Fetch the loaf behind you would you?"

Arnold looked behind him to see a round loaf of bread on the windowsill. It was stale and hard as a rock. For a moment, Arnold feared that he would break a tooth if he attemped to eat it. Nonetheless, he brought it to the table in front of the hearth and took a seat.

"So how'd you end up here Gerald?", Arnold asked.

"Well me Mother's a seamstress. Father's a drunkard. And I'm one out of six other kids, so I came to work for Lord Pataki to make what I can for the family and I've been here ever since"

Gerald scooped some of the gruel from the pot into a wooden bowl and placed it in front of Arnold. Staring down at the unappetizing gray gloop in front of him, Arnold was glad he wasn't a particularly picky eater. Then again, this wasn't a huge deviation from the odd meals that Grandma regularly served back at the boarding house.

"Where exactly is this place?"

Gerald raised an eyebrow and stared at him as though he were insane. He spooned gruel into his mouth and said,

"Cook must have boxed your ears severely. You sure do ask strange questions"

"That's because he's not from our time!", Grandma cackled madly.

Arnold's mouth dropped open as he stared at Grandma who was still laughing in her chair. How did she know? Arnold knew he'd have to talk to her alone at some point. Maybe she knew a way to get him back to Hillwood. Meanwhile, Gerald sighed and rolled his eyes as if hearing something like that wasn't anything unusual from the old woman.

"Eat your gruel granny", Gerald said dismissively.

"You're at Bedford Hills, Lord Pataki's estate. See all this land around you? Lord Pataki owns all of it. He collects taxes from the commoners who live on his land and this is how he's built up his fortune. He might be the wealthiest man in all of Suffolk, and probably the shrewdest"

"That sounds like Bob", Arnold muttered under his breath as he took a swallow of the gruel.

"What?"

"Nothing", Arnold mumbled, "What about his daughter?"

"Lady Helga?", Gerald raised an eyebrow, "Forget it Arnold, a girl like her would never look at you. She won't even look twice at gentlemen from high born families. Not that there's been any suitors for her anyway. Her wildness is enough to drive them all away"

"Enough talk. We shan't tarry Arnold. If you've finished with your gruel, there's much to be done today"

Gerald rose from his seat and started to clear the bowls from the table. He turned around to smirk at Arnold.

"By the time I'm done with ya, those baby hands of yours will be tougher than leather!"

* * *

...

"I cannot bear this intolerable heat any longer"

Lady Helga was lying on her canopy bed, dressed only in a corset and her lace pantalettes. The dark velvet curtains of her bedroom were drawn but the daylight still found a way to sneak into the room from the crevices in between. Despite the exhaustion she felt from her long journey, she could not sleep. The air in the room was too hot and balmy and besides her heart was bursting to do something exciting.

"Should I fan harder my lady?" Phoebe, her ladies maid chirped cheerfully from the side of her bed, holding an ostrich feathered fan.

"No, that's quite alright", Helga replied, "Phoebe, how long have we been together?"

"Since I was just a wee child, my lady"

"Exactly. Yet you still refer to me 'my lady'. Just call me by my name"

"Oh I couldn't do that, it wouldn't be proper" Phoebe placed a dainty hand over her mouth in surprise.

Helga rolled her eyes. Ever since they were children, Phoebe had always been the more demure and conservative one. Now here they were, both sixteen years of age and Phoebe continued to scold her for her behavior. But Helga knew she did it out of love, for they were the closest of friends despite the difference in social ranking and ever since Helga's mother had passed away, Phoebe had seemingly stepped into the role.

"But there's no one here to hear you", Helga smirked with a mischievous spark in her eyes, "Say it. Just once"

"Hel...Helga", Phoebe blushed a deep jewel tone of scarlet as if she had just spoken a forbidden word.

Helga's laughter rang out like bells seeing how embarrassed Phoebe had gotten over just saying her name. It tickled her to no end to tease her best friend in this manner.

"Oh you're so wicked!", Phoebe said, hiding her face in embarrassment.

Helga continued to bake in the heat of the room, feeling perpetually bored until a grand idea popped into her head.

"Phoebe, I've a wonderful idea!", Helga said sitting up abruptly in her bed. "I can't bear to be in this stifling room any longer. Let's go to the lake. We'll dip our feet in and cool ourselves"

"But my lady, it's almost sun down"

"Please Phoebe, please. I'm dying of suffocation", Helga clutched at the skirts of her maid, as if to beg.

"Well...alright", Phoebe said at last with slight hesitance, "But only if you promise we'll be back before supper."

"Oh thank you Phoebe, thank you!"

Helga jumped from the bed in excitement.

"But Helga you have to promise! Else I'll get in trouble with the head maid and your father will be livid with you." Phoebe said sternly.

"I promise, now stop your worries and help me get this dress on"

Helga slipped into a rose muslin dress with short puffs for sleeves. The material was significantly lighter than the one she had on in the morning and she felt she might be able to breathe in it. She looked every bit the upperclass lady with her hair smoothly swept up into a chignon and with lace gloves donned upon her fair white hands, but still Helga's spirit shone through. The look of her vivid blue eyes betrayed her feisty nature and her strong, stubborn willful attitude in life. She was a wild creature hiding in a proper woman's clothes and Helga knew it.

* * *

...

The sun hung low across the green fields, painting them in reddish-gold tones. In the distance, the clouds were thick and filtered in the orange glow, lending an ethereal vibe to the hills and streams. The skies were dyed in a expansive palate of colors, first a deep red, fading off into orange and then finally a light blue.

"My lady, please, you're walking much too fast to be lady-like. Come under the parasol or you'll get freckles on your skin"

"Oh Phoebe I don't care about freckles" Helga said half-running through the grass fields, basking in the scent and sounds, "I only care for Bedford Hills, I've been dying to come home"

"But Helga, you won't catch a husband if you get freckles all over", Phoebe insisted.

"Why does everyone speak to me about husbands and marriage? I'm so tired of hearing this exhausting word—husband", she spat out the word as if it were vulgar. "Is a woman's life to be nothing but for the purpose of getting married and henceforth becoming a mere decoration; a doll to be admired and never heard?"

"Then what will you do? You cannot be unmarried forever. For a lady of your standing, why it's just not done"

"Why not? I would be glad to be a spinster", Helga huffed as she crossed her arms.

"Helga, hush. Don't say such things!", Phoebe admonished her.

"Sometimes I think I would have been better off born as a boy. So that I can go wherever and do whatever I please. Like go to the plays at the theater alone or gallop off into the sunset across the fields on horseback!"

As soon as the words had left her lips, a devious idea crept into her mind. _Horses._ Ignoring, Phoebe's gasps, Helga unfastened the ribbons of her hat just enough to be discreet. When a gale of wind crossed the moors, she felt the weight of her hat lift from her head and be carried off into the distance.

"Oh my hat!", Helga called out in faux-surprise. She watched the hat blow with the wind further down the hill and she looked towards Phoebe in alarm.

"You wait right here my lady. I'll be back shortly!", Phoebe said as she rushed off to catch it.

Helga waited until she saw Phoebe run down the hill until she sprinted off in the opposite direction. She felt the wind whipping through her hair as she ran down toward the stables. Helga felt her boots sinking into the softness of the mud beneath her but she didn't care, all she knew was that in a few moments she would be feeling true liberation.

When she came to the stable, she saw the horses were all still in their stalls. They were sleek, majestic creatures with strong muscles that rolled under smooth coats. She looked for one horse in particular, her favorite. She was a beautiful black horse with a flowing mane, soft and silken. The horse had large, genuine eyes that just seemed to look right through Helga.

"Shhhh, there now Bessie, be a good girl", Helga whispered. She stroked the horse gently on its nose and slowly undid the clasp of the gate. She grabbed ahold of her skirts and lifted them so that her legs could have more access to what she was about to do next. She took a stool from the corner and placed it next to Bessie as she slowly climbed up the gentle creature.

"I-I did it", Helga breathed in disbelief, "I mounted Bessie!"

Suddenly, someone called her name.

"Helga?"

Helga dug her heels into the hinds of the horse in surprise. She screamed as the horse whinnied and bucked its front legs up in fear. All at once, Helga was falling from the horse and she closed her eyes to brace herself for the impact.

"Helga! Are you alright?", A gentle voice called to her. Helga slowly fluttered her eyes open, realizing she hadn't landed on hard ground, but rather someone had caught her.

"It's you! You're the boy from this morning", Helga said as she realized she was in the arms of the servant-boy she had seen before.

She quickly realized her position and blushed deeply as she pushed away from the boy. She cleared her throat and looked back at him.

"Tell me, why do you call me by my name? Do you know me?"

Now it was the boy's turn to blush. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and stumbled over his words.

"Oh uh..um..sorry Lady Helga"

"No, it's quite alright. To be frank, I'm a little surprised. No one calls me by my name except for father", Helga's eyes widened in sudden realization at the mention of her father, "Oh father! Oh, please don't tell him I was here. He'll be livid if he knew"

"Don't worry, I won't say anything", Arnold said smiling.

"Thank you"

A brief silence encompassed the both of them. He looked away from her and out onto the pastures, surveying the way the sunlight streaked across the early evening sky. Helga wished for a brief second that she could hear what he was thinking. She watched the boy and noticed how tall he was. At least a good deal taller than her, and his eyes seemed soft and kind, unlike the cold ones she had always known her father to have. She liked his eyes, she thought. They were green and reminded her of the first hint of spring after a long and harsh winter. They were offset against the orange burn of sunset, and she could see tiny flecks of gold in them. The boy looked back at her and she shyly turned her face away as if to pretend that she hadn't been staring at him.

"So what were you trying to do?", he broke the silence.

"Promise you won't laugh", Helga said as she twiddled her thumb-a nervous habit.

"I promise"

"I was...I was trying to ride Bessie"

She expected him to snigger or to make a snide remark. Or simply to sigh. But he did none of those things.

"Why would I laugh at that?", he said in a tone that implied true confusion.

"Because a lady should never ride horses. At least that's what father always says. It's a man's activity."

"Well, I don't think so. I think if you really wanted to learn how to ride a horse, you should be allowed"

Helga glanced up at him with wide eyes. It was quite a peculiar thing to hear from someone, let alone a boy. She thought she had been the only one in the world to think in such a way.

"Do you really think that way? No one's ever said that before."

"I do. I could teach you if you want"

"You know how to ride horses?"

He nodded and smiled at her. Then he looked up to the ceiling as if he were recalling a memory. Helga wanted so desperately to say yes when suddenly she heard a familiar female voice calling her from outside the stable.

"Lady Helga!"

Helga gasped as she looked outside to see a small figure approaching the stable in the distance.

"It's my maid. I must go before she finds me here. She'll give me a terrible lecture and I won't hear the end of it."

"Meet me here tomorrow morning at dawn, if you're serious about teaching me", she whispered.

Helga ran to the door of the stables, but looked back one last time at the boy. She smiled at him with eyes that conveyed that they now shared a secret. He returned her smile and she turned herself on her heels and disappeared around the corner.

* * *

**A/N: I changed the date back a year from 1859 to 1858, hope that didn't bother anyone too much. Also, the way the characters talk will be slightly OOC and that can't be helped due to the time period and the location this story is set in, but I did try to keep true to their core characters and temperaments :) The last thing I wanted to mention is about Gerald saying it's time for dinner when it's still afternoon. This wasn't a typo. I did some research on Victorian history and apparently their eating schedules were a little different than ours is today. They ate breakfast in the morning, and "dinner" during noon or early afternoon and then supper could be eaten any time before they went to bed. I found it really interesting! ****Thank you for reading! Please review and tell me what you thought of it. **


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